Knox

I’m not sure if Libby is going to answer my phone call this morning when I hit her name on my phone screen.

“I’m only answering because you’re my boss and I don’t want to get fired,” she immediately says. “I ordered your breakfast. It should be there in about ten minutes.”

She’s being the professional Libby, not the spontaneous one I had an incredible time with last night. I need to break down those walls more to see that beautiful, carefree side of her.

“Did you order something for yourself?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Call room service back and tell them to deliver yours to my room. I need to go over some shit with you.”

“Right now? We have an entire bus ride to do that. I mean, hours upon hours.”

“True, but I don’t want to sit in here and eat breakfast by myself. So get your ass over here and enjoy some waffles with me.”

“Fine,” she groans. “I’ll be there in five.”

I’m grinning from ear to ear as I drag myself out of bed and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I run some cold water over my face, and I’m still shirtless when the doorbell rings. I walk through the living room and answer the door to find Libby standing in front of me, her light hair wet and in a ponytail, and she’s wearing another one of those long dresses, this one black lace and hanging loose from her shoulder.

I lightly chuckle, not missing the way her eyes roam down my chest before moving back up to meet my gaze.

“Morning,” she says slowly. “Thomas wants to have a conference call, so I told him to call us in about two hours. That will give us plenty of time to pack up and make sure we stay on schedule for the next city. That okay?”

“You’re the boss, babe,” I answer, resting my arm against the doorframe. “And have I ever told you how much I love those dresses you wear?”

Her baby blues narrow in on me. “It’s too early for me to deal with your flirting.”

I move aside, allowing her to slide into my suite. The door closes behind her, and I meet her in the living room.

“Are you still mad at me?” I ask, sitting next to her on the couch.

“I was never mad at you.”

“You sure acted like it.”

She shakes her head. “Not mad. I just now know I need to keep in mind that you have sticky fingers, thief.”

I can’t help but grin. “Babe, if you let me have you for one night I’ll show you how great it feels when my fingers are sticky.”

She pushes forward to slap my shoulder. “You went through my bag, Knox, and took something of mine. That’s invasion of privacy. You’re lucky I didn’t report you for stealing.”

“Go right ahead.” I hold my phone out. “Tell them you need to make a police report for your missing vibrator.”

She swats it away. “It’s also too early to deal with your bullshit. I’m sleep deprived.”

I get up from the couch and start to head towards my bedroom. “If you want it back …”

She jumps and runs after me. “No! It will be humiliating if you hand me my vibrator right now.” She grabs my elbow, drags me back into the living room, and pushes me down on the couch.

“Then how exactly do you expect me to give it back? Mail it to you?”

She throws her arms out, shaking her head. “It’s not like I’ll need it for the next few days. Slip it in my bag or something when I’m not looking.” She gives me a cold glare. “And don’t take anything else.”

I stick my lower lip out. “You’re ruining all my fun. I was planning on making a shrine of you. I’ve been saving up all your used bubble gum and water bottles.” She flips me off. “Another question.”

“No more questions if it involves anything having to do with a vibrator.”

I hold my finger up. “One more question, and I promise I’ll stop.”

She falls back onto the couch. “Fine, one more.”

“Do you have anything kinkier in that little suitcase of yours?”

I grunt when a pillow flies towards me and smacks me in the face. “No,” she screeches. “I like vibrators. They get the job done without any commitment.”

“What the hell? I can do the same job.” I stop and clear my throat. “Let me correct myself. I can do a better job without the commitment. What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference. I can’t develop feelings for my vibrator. My vibrator can’t develop feelings for me. When it’s time for me to part with it, it’ll be easy. Vibrators give you the benefits of a relationship without the hassle and heartbreak.”

“Wrong. It gives you an orgasm. That’s not the only advantage of being in a relationship.”

“You know what I mean.”

“One of these days you’re going to let me in, Libby Graves, and I mean let me in a lot of different ways.”

“Not happening.”

“Life is too fucking short to be afraid of doing things you want to do. I’ll leave it at that.” I decide to drop it. It’s not going to go anywhere right now, and I don’t want her to think I’m trying to push her too much. “What time do we head out?”

“In about an hour. I’ve already scheduled to have your bags brought down. They let Marvin use their kitchen this morning, so he’s prepping meals for you as we speak. Our next stop is Seattle.”

“Sounds good.”

* * *

Libby is sitting on the couch with her computer on her lap when I walk up the stairs to the bus.

“Looks like we made headlines again,” she says.

Fuck. Here we go again.

If we’re in the news, that means she’s going to pull away more.

“Good news or bad news?” I ask.

She turns the laptop around so the screen is facing me and starts scrolling down the page. There’s a picture of us sitting at the Blackjack table. My hand is resting on her knee, and we’re staring at each other, laughing.

Our chemistry and attraction bleeds through the photo.

I shut the door and let out a deep breath. “We’ve been doing that trick for years, years, and have never been busted.”

She turns it back around and starts to read the article out loud. “Some of them are even reporting that we actually eloped!”

I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’ll fix this right now.” I log onto my Twitter account and start typing.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m tweeting that it was all fun and games last night and I’m not a married man.”

Her eyes are wide. “You don’t want me to make a statement?”

“You can if you want, but it’s a waste of time. If I tweet it, it’s pretty much a statement in itself. Anyone who cares about what I’m doing follows me on here.”

She shuts the laptop, sets it on the floor, and rests her head against the couch cushions. “I wish it was that easy when I was dealing with my father. You couldn’t just tweet the truth back then.”

“It has its ups and downs. There have been plenty of mornings that I’ve woke up wishing Twitter didn’t exist because I drunk tweeted some stupid shit.”

She snorts. “I know what you mean.”

I sit down on the other side of the sectional. “What’s the worst thing you’ve tweeted?”

She shakes her head. “No way. I am so not going there.”

“Come on. I’ll tell you mine.” She shakes her head again. I grab my phone and turn on the camera. She jumps when I take a picture of her.

“What are you doing?”

“Tell me your worst one or I’ll tweet this picture and tell them it wasn’t a joke and you are my new wife.”

“Fine,” she mutters. “You’re seriously a pain in my ass.”

“I like your ass, so we’re even.”

Her cheeks start to turn a soft pink. “It was my twenty-first birthday. My friends and I went out clubbing. I got completely hammered and don’t remember everything that happened that night. What I do remember is waking up to a tweet that somewhat went viral of me asking who wanted to give me a screaming orgasm.”

“You dirty girl, you.”

“I was referring to the drink, a screaming orgasm, but apparently my tweet made it sound like I wanted someone to come over and actually give me an orgasm. My friends haven’t let me live that one down.”

I laugh. “Babe, you let me know if you ever need a screaming orgasm.”

“I told you enough with the sex talk.”

“I was talking about the drink. I’m a pretty good bartender.” She rolls her eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, mine is pretty bad, but probably not as bad as yours, because it wasn’t me doing the actual tweeting.”

“Then that doesn’t count.”

“It does if it was on my Twitter. A girl I hooked up with somehow got ahold of my phone after we … you know.”

“After you gave her a screaming orgasm?”

I snap my fingers. “Exactly. She tweeted like fifteen pictures of herself lying in bed with me passed the fuck out.” Her face gets redder before she bursts out in laughter. I raise my voice to talk over her. “After that, I started having George lock my phone up when I was hooking up with a chick.” I wait until she stops laughing before scooting towards her and nudging her with my elbow. “So when you finally decide to let me give you another screaming orgasm, please don’t take pictures and post them online.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about either one of those things happening.”

“Never say never because who knows when you’ll be in need of a screaming orgasm.”

I grab my phone when it starts to vibrate, groaning when I read the text.

Mom: You were supposed to be staying out of trouble on this tour. I’ll be having a talk with Libby about her unprofessional behavior.

I’m not sure why my mom is so pissed about last night. She should be proud of me for selling out every venue and excited that we’re already in talks of adding more shows.

She’s scared because she doesn’t want people to quit being my fans. I don’t know why she gets so damn worried. I have plenty of money to live a comfortable life, even if I don’t make another dime. I think it’s because she’s afraid of losing the spotlight. She developed a skincare line that sells on QVC and wrote a few books about raising me. She doesn’t want those opportunities to go if people want nothing to do with me.

“What is it?” Libby asks, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” I answer. “It’s Spencer telling me about our marriage headlines.”

I hit reply.

Me: The hell you will. It was my idea. Don’t say shit to her.

Mom: I’m only doing what’s right for your career.

Me: You don’t handle my career. Her and Thomas do. You have no say.

My phone beeps again, and I’m glad this text isn’t from my mom. It’s from my brother.

Easton: Dude, I’m pissed our whole dress up game is ruined. I can’t believe you got busted.

Me: I know, but I’m surprised we got away with it for that long.

Easton: I heard the tour is kicking off with success. Miss you, big bro.

Me: Miss you too. I expect to see you when I make it home.

Easton: You know I wouldn’t miss it.